Maybe
by ButterflyRae
Summary: Sure, there had been times where it had seemed like we were flirting with each other, but he’d never given me a look like that before . . . Never had the possibility of an us loomed so real and tangible. Seddie.
1. Tunnel Vision

**Author's Note 1:**

The University of British Columbia is in Vancouver, which is most likely the city to which Spencer took a bus in that episode where he accidentally ended up in Canada and discovered Canadian bacon.

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_"In 20 years, I guarantee you, I will be Carly's second husband." ~ Fredward Benson, iSpy a Mean Teacher

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_

On January 3, 2009, Mr. Carly Shay, the second, was brutally pushed off a Seattle fire escape plummeting eight stories to an instant and painless death.

And then it was just me—without a road map, uncertain of what the future might hold, and at some deep level that I still wasn't fully aware of, scared out of my mind.

And no, I didn't fall in love with her the second that our lips met that day. I simply realized that I'd never been in love within anyone in the first place. Attracted to? Yes. Infatuated with? Perhaps. But it couldn't be love if I could kiss someone else like that without once thinking of her. Without thinking of Carly.

So there I was, stripped of that longstanding delusion I had created about where my love life was inevitably heading and fundamentally less certain about anything any more. Because doubt had been introduced and it wasn't going away. Sure, I could largely shove it out of my mind and my awareness that night and just sit there listening to my music. But truth has a tendency to catch up with you.

In some ways, I was relieved when my mother started to push Brown and to push Brown hard. I can't tell at this point if it ever truly seemed like the ideal place to go to college or if it's appeal was largely the lack of decision required from me. It was, after all, very easy to capitulate to my mother's judgment and it served as an endpoint to work towards. That was both the good thing and the bad thing about it.

It gave me a sense of firmer footing but that was accompanied by a nasty side effect: tunnel vision. It didn't let me my see what was going on around me or within me. But like I said, truth has a tendency to catch up with you.

When I received my acceptance letters from Brown and the backup schools I had applied to, my mother practically threw a parade for me. She was so happy. Carly and Spencer were also really excited for me as well. Everyone was happy and it wonderful. Until, once again, the delusion came crashing down. And once again it was her. Sam.

The thing about it was, she was happy for me too. She wasn't off throwing parades or making me celebratory sculptures, but I could tell that she was genuinely happy. That night when I told her she smiled at me softly and told me how glad she was.

"Good for you dork," she smiled warmly. "Now you'll finally be able to go off and live the life of your dreams." She was looking at me softly and let off a small half-laugh.

And suddenly I realized that _I_ was not happy. Not unhappy in an I-was-hoping-she would-react-differently sort of way, but unhappy in the sense that I wanted my life to be profoundly and utterly different. I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me and another version of Freddie Benson splattered on the pavement. I excused myself from our little gathering five minutes later and went off by myself to think.

And yesterday, I finally did it. Carly had accepted her offer from Berkeley weeks ago and Sam had known that she would be attending Seattle Community College for sometime now. I, on the other hand, had been living in a state of limbo for weeks, unbeknownst to anyone. I hadn't responded to my letters.

But we all make decisions. As terrifying as it is, we all have to choose what we want out of life and then we have to live with those choices.

And when I declined my offer to Brown and accepted my offer to the University of British Columbia it wasn't an impulse. It wasn't what I expected to find myself doing when I pulled out those letters that day, but nonetheless, it was a deliberate and certain act. I mailed the letters the same afternoon.

I was on my way home to tell my mother and Carly when I found myself on a cross-town bus headed in the other direction. And then I was at her door.

"What?" she asked opening the door.

"I declined my offer to Brown," I blurted out. "I declined it and I'm going to UBC instead."

And I looked up at her expectantly, pleadingly, willing her to say what I, in that moment, realized I was desperately hoping to hear . . .

But a look of horror formed on her face.

"That was damn stupid," she said softly and I was left stunned.

"Oh," I managed to get out. We stood there in silence for what seemed like hours and then I turned around and started to walk away.

"Freddie!" she called after me.

I turned around and looked at her, daring her to speak.

"I, I decided to go to prom with Ross Campbell," she said softly.

"Oh," I said again, turning around and walking away.

After I left, I just walked. Walked around the city for a few hours before heading home, trying to take in what happened and what I was feeling. And at some point I asked myself if it was worth it—if I had made good choices and where my life was going and what I really wanted to do.

And, bizarrely, as I thought about it all, I found myself smiling. Maybe I declined that offer in part for the wrong reasons and maybe I don't have as much choice about my life as I originally thought. But for the first time in a long time, I know what I want. Not what is even possible or what is going to happen, but what I truly want.

And shit, I'm 18-years old. I have time to make mistakes, and if I screw up a little bit then so what? Let's just hope that my mother feels the same way . . .

* * *

_Well a crazy woman and a neurotic man, should never ever ever make a wedding plan. And a wistful day and a night on earth, make a poor man sit and contemplate what it's all worth . . .

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_**Author's Note 2:**

According to U.S. News & World Report, Brown is #27 on the "World's Best Colleges and Universities List." University of British Columbia (UBC) is #34 on the same list. Therefore, the schools are actually more comparable than you would think and Freddie has _not _actually made such a radical choice / sacrificed his education. Nor would he. If he had decided to go to community college instead, well, that would be OC.

And while you can assume that Freddie knows what a good school UBC is (it is ranked higher than Berkeley actually), not all the characters in this story spend their free time reading US News & World Report's college ranking lists . . .

Also, thanks to PinkJelly for her input about the summary quote used. :-)


	2. That Look

**Author's Note 1:** I realize that this chapter has a different tone then the last one. That's because it is written from Sam's perspective and she deals with her emotions in a different way than Freddie . . . There are deeper conflicts going on with her in this story, but I'm choosing not to explicitly share them with you here. Read & Review!

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"_She can't help it; she's just naturally vicious." ~ Fredward Benson on Samantha Puckett, iWill Date Freddie

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_

"Yeah" I said, slamming Ross Campbell into a locker, "I love the dork, alright? Big fucking deal. It's not like there can ever be anything between us!"

I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes and that made me even angrier. The kid, of course, looked absolutely petrified. Served him right for prying into my personal life. All I told him to do was take me to the prom and he suddenly thought that it gave him the right to ask me about my feelings for Freddie.

"Oh, and you should feel really proud of yourself for figuring it out," I fumed. "I know it takes a staggering intellect on par with that of, gasp, Marissa Benson, to unravel that mystery."

"W-well then, why aren't you going with him to prom?" Ross stuttered.

This kid had more of a pair than I thought. Why did he persist in asking me stupid questions?

"Because I already told him I was going with you!" I yelled, slamming my fist into the spot next to Ross's head.

He gave me a puzzled (and terrified) look.

"We were just going to go as friends if neither of us found dates, and fortunately for me, I found a real winner like you," I snarked.

"B-but I have a girlfriend," Ross stammered.

"Well she'll just have to find another date," I said, grabbing the kid by the collar.

"I-I I'm not going to ruin my special night with my girlfriend just so that you can make Benson jealous," he said.

That was it. My breaking point. I could actually feel tears on my cheeks. It was humiliating. You understand why the kid had to be thrown in the garbage, right?

"I'm not trying to make him jealous!" I yelled. "I'm trying to get him to reconsider staying in the area and not going to Brown!"

"D-Don't you want him to go to college near you?!" Ross yelled as I tossed him toward the garbage can.

"Didn't you fucking hear me!" I said. "I fucking love him! Why the hell would I would I want him to give up his goddamn education?"

"I'm still not going to prom with you!" Ross said, defiantly, and I grabbed him by his shirt collar again.

"Sam, unhand that football player!" yelled Carly, rushing onto the scene, and so ended my _first_ attempt to convince Ross Campbell to take me to prom.

Why did I say I was going with Ross Campbell? I guess because I had to say something.

I couldn't accept that he was giving up on that school; that school that he had talked and dreamed about for the past couple years. And I _really_ couldn't accept the look that he was giving me. It was a hopeful, expectant, terrifying sort of look that made me feel, in the pit of my stomach, that somehow this decision had something to do with me.

And I'm not really sure where that look came from. Sure, there had been times where it had seemed like we were flirting with each other, but he'd never given me a look like that before . . . Never had the possibility of an us loomed so real and tangible. Not even the time we kissed. Not even as I literally felt his lips caress mine . . . No, I could not accept that look.

Ross Campbell was going to prom with me whether he liked it or not.

And maybe it would be impossible for Freddie to _un_decline the Brown offer, but I _could_ prevent any future stupidity. Nothing else would happen in the name of that look.

* * *

_Well a hundred years of solitude, give an otherwise happy woman an attitude. And the mystery of the long embrace, the art of kissing face to face . . .

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_

**Author's Note 2:** The next chapter will probably be back to Freddie's perspective. If so, expect a return to the tone of chapter #1.


	3. Struck

**Author's Note:** This chapter is a bit odd since Freddie's contemplative style herein collides with Sam's not-so-contemplative actions as it inevitably had to. Hopefully I've pulled it off in a way that works. Let me know what you think. :-)

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_"You know, they say when a girl constantly rips on a guy, it really just means she has a crush on him." ~Fredward Benson, iDon't Want to Fight_

* * *

My heart was pounding, my adrenaline was rushing, I had just had a blowout fight with my mother, and I was the happiest I had been in a long time. I still wasn't certain of what would happen that night, but my heart swelled with hope . . . It had taken me a while to get to that point.

Like I said, knowing what you want is not quite the same thing as knowing what's possible or what is going on around you. Although I had decided not to walk that predetermined path, my finely honed tunnel vision was taking a long time to clear.

Over the past couple years I had missed things. Missed things that I probably should have caught. And yes, over the years, the vicious fighting between us had slowly evolved into a less biting and more flirty rapport, but I still didn't know where I stood with her. With Sam.

All I knew was that she thought my decision had been "damn stupid" and that she was going to prom with some guy named Ross Campbell. Not the best sign in the world.

And while I would have liked to have changed that situation, I had no idea how to go about doing so. I had been pretending that I had no control over the course of my life for so long that I hadn't exactly learned how to make things like that happen.

It probably should have started with being completely honest, but it didn't. Clearly, Sam wasn't about to talk to me about what I had done and what I wanted, and I realized that there was no one else that I wanted to hear from. I was just learning to listen to my own feelings again and I suppose that I didn't want them to be drowned out by other voices. No, I carefully tucked away how I felt and didn't go into it with others.

Of course, this meant only telling my mother only part of the truth when I informed her that I wasn't going to Brown. After making sure that she had all her pills and supplements for her nerves at hand, I sat her down and spit it out. I told her that I wanted to figure things out for myself and that I wasn't sure that I could do that at the school that my father attended. That was true. To put it mildly, she was not thrilled to hear this. Although there was nothing she could do about it, she struggled to accept my decision.

I also wasn't entirely forthcoming with Carly, and I could tell that she was worried about me and Sam. As the days wore on and the end of the school year approached, Sam seemed to grow more and more distant toward me and at one point I was nearly convinced that she really didn't care. Meanwhile I grew less and less distant toward her . . . At least on the inside. In a horrible twist of fate, I was finally coming to understand my relationship with her just as that relationship seemed to be falling apart. And I was miserable. Carly had evidently picked up on this, repeatedly trying to broach the subject of what was going on between us, but I always shut down those discussions.

I don't know what I expected to happen. Perhaps I was hoping that inspiration would strike me and that suddenly I'd know how to fix things. That suddenly I'd know how to just magically correct nearly four years worth of mistakes and missed chances. As it happened, something did strike me but it sure as hell wasn't inspiration.

It was a fist.

The punch came out of nowhere as I was packing up my books, and according to the owner of the fist, it was a "warning punch." While it clearly wasn't as hard as it could have been given the size of the guy, it still knocked the wind out of me and left me gasping. All I could manage was to give the lug who hit me a confused and terrified stare. He was clearly a football player and had to be at least twice my size.

"Benson, tell your crazy girlfriend that you're going to Brown!" said my bully.

"E-excuse me?!" I said, unsure why of why Ridgeway Football Player #86 was suddenly interested in my college education.

One thing was clear though—this had something to do with Sam. He couldn't be talking about anyone else.

"You heard me, Benson," he said, grabbing me by the collar. "Just do what she wants already!"

"What? Why?!" I asked. "Did she tell you to do this to me?!"

She had said my decision was stupid, but I never thought that she would resort to physical violence. Despite her cold demeanor, she had given me no reason to think that she was truly angry . . .

"No, man!" the guy said, instantly backing off and getting this hard to read look on his face. "Please don't tell her I hit you!"

"Then why . . . ?" I said giving him a confused look. I still had no idea of why I had been sucker punched.

"Because," he said with trepidation, looking around the hallway to make sure that no one could hear him, "then maybe she'll stop picking on me."

I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing. The laugh washed over me like a wave and swept aside the confusion I was feeling. After all the angst I had been putting myself through, laughing was an enormous relief. The whole situation was just so damn absurd.

This 250 lb football player was clearly terrified of a slender teenage girl. A girl who somehow managed to be cruel, vicious, maddening, and wonderful all at the same time. What the hell had she done to him?

Upon hearing my laugh, the eyes of #86 filled with rage and he took a step toward me again and made as if to hit me.

"I'll tell her about this," I calmly warned him, realizing that I was now in control of the situation. And the guy immediately backed off again. Why was Sam involved with this guy at all?

Then a strange and seemingly unlikely possibility crossed my mind.

"Um . . . you wouldn't happen to be Ross Campbell, would you?" I asked doubtfully.

"Yeah," he said nervously, still looking at me as if he thought that I'd pass something on to her.

"And you're not going to prom with her, are you?" I hazarded.

"Not if I can help it," the guy laughed nervously. "My girlfriend isn't too enthusiastic about that idea."

My heart literally skipped a beat and my stomach fluttered as I realized that there was probably more to Sam's behavior than I had thought.

"Do me a favor, and just _tell_ her you'll take her to prom," I told him.

Ross gave me a look as if I were crazy.

"Do you mean stand her up?" he asked, looking terrified of the thought.

"Trust me," I told him, sounding more sure of myself then I was. "I'll take care of it."

"I guess that would be alright," he said nervously, clearly still afraid of the consequences.

"It will be fine," I smiled at him, doing my best to look convincing.

There was a strong possibility that it would not, in fact, be fine and both of us would be subjected to whatever treatment Ross had already received. Then I would, most likely, be subjected to whatever it was a second time by Ross. But that was a gamble I was willing to take . . .

"Yeah, okay. I owe you one, man," he said.

But really, I owed him one, because the encounter gave me a glimmer of hope. As far as I could tell, there could really only be one explanation why she had lied about having a date for prom and then had told her would-be date that she wanted me to go to Brown. She must have thought that all this would somehow change my mind. About what I had done and what I wanted. I don't know why she would think that I could somehow _un_decline Brown's offer, but she'd obviously been working pretty damn hard to try to ensure that I did.

It wasn't exactly a declaration of love, but it told me that, at least at some level, she cared for me. Despite her cold behavior toward me, she cared. And Sam Puckett was going to prom with me whether she liked it or not. Without saying anything about it, I rented a tux and bought a corsage that I knew would match her dress.

It was the corsage that tipped my mother off. I must have had a funny expression on my face or something when I told her who it was for, because she suddenly connected the dots and went off on tirade about poor decision making and bad timing.

"Why now, Fredward?!" she yelled. "Why do you choose now to reciprocate her feelings?!"

"You think she likes me, then?" I asked dopily.

"Oh, wipe that stupid expression off your face!" she said, becoming hysterical. "I've been telling you that since middle school!"

And thinking back on it, she sort of had been. My mother _had_ made comments about girls picking on boys they liked _several_ times. The thought made my heart swell with hope . . . I really should have listened to my mother more.

"Why couldn't you have had your little fling with her in eighth grade?!" she yelled. "Why must you give up your education for some juvenile delinquent!"

"She's not a delinquent!" I shouted. "At least not anymore!"

Sam had, for the most part, outgrown the worst of her behavior after having actually spent a few terrifying days in juvey.

"Besides," I yell, "you should be grateful to her! Going to Brown would have been a mistake whether or not she was in my life. Realizing my feelings for her was just the wakeup call that I needed!"

And then, unexpectedly, my mother burst into tears and started blubbering about how I was becoming my own person and how she could feel me pulling away.

"That's how it's supposed to be," I smiled softly. "It doesn't mean that I love you any less."

And then my mother finally gave me her blessing.

* * *

_Well elsewhere in the universe, hearts don't break; they only burst. And you started out the innocent child, but somewhere along the way, baby, you went wild . . ._

_

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_**Author's Note 2:** So I have chapter 5 planned out in my head and I think it will be awesome. Chapter 4, however, is probably going to suck. I've been thinking about it a lot and I think that I basically have to introduce you to contemplative Sam. I don't want to go too OOC on you though so writing this is going to be a challenge.


	4. Caught

**Author's Note 1:** Without further ado, I give you contemplative Sam . . . I've been thinking about it and have decided to just accept that they're probably going to be a little out of character in this story. :-(

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"_Some boys find me kind of abrasive." ~Sam Puckett, iHate Sam's Boyfriend

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_There's something about senior year that screws with people's heads. Half the kids act like something's cut off the blood flow to their brain and they've got one year to party it up before the thing completely shuts down. Then there are those people who turn into such jittery balls of nerves that they make Marissa Benson look like a frickin' Buddhist monk. And, of course, there are those dumb fudgewads who become weepy, emotional puddles of goo.

Yup, senior year can do weird things to people. Suddenly it becomes all about the future, who you're supposed to be, and what you're leaving behind. I used to think that it was dumb as hell. But you'd be surprised how easy it is to get caught up in that shit.

You might say that the future and I have never been on the best of terms. In fact, I've always avoided it, practically darting around corners to get away from it. But like a particularly obnoxious teacher, it hunted me down and blocked off all the exits. And earlier this year, it final caught up with me. Caught up with me and practically slapped me in the face.

Principal Franklin informed me that I would need to go to community college. Although I had known this at some level before then (I had done my very best to tune out Carly and Freddie as they filled out their college applications the previous year), it was still unpleasant to hear.

And suddenly there I was, staring into the unknown with no frickin' idea of what I was going to do with my life. And I, Sam Puckett, was scared. Somewhere in the back of my mind a picture of me once again dawning a Chili my Bowl uniform hovered ominously, just daring me _not_ to get my act together. And just like that I was caught, thinking and hoping and worrying about the future like every other senior in the damn place . . . Not that you would catch me admitting that. On the outside, I acted like everything was normal, but on the inside everything was tense and unclear.

Freddie's future, on the other hand, was a lock. That polo-wearing freak had been destined for a life in some orderly planned community since his mother bought him his first sweater vest. I could just see him becoming a doctor or lawyer and moving to some wealthy suburb. He was totally the white picket fence and 2.3 kids type. Nowhere in that boring little picture could I see myself. And even if he did try to keep in touch, as I was almost certain he would, I would be the gunk in the works. A sticky, out of place bit that would undoubtedly be deemed "undesirable" by his lame-ass neighbors and the local PTA.

At the same time, as the year wore on, it became more and more difficult for me to deny his role in my life. Slowly, I came to realize that it had always been that doof. As crazy as it was, at some level, I had always had my heart set on Fredweird. And the lamest part of it was that, as drawn as I was to him, I knew that we would be a disaster . . . Sure, there was that spark between us and sometimes it felt like we were flirting, but it all meant absolutely nothing. I refused to be anybody's gunk.

I wished only the best for him in the future. I really did. The moment had always been enough for me and I planned on making the most of it. After teasing him mercilessly when he suggested that we go to the prom as friends if we couldn't find other dates, I agreed. Somehow I knew that neither of us _would_ find other dates and that both of us would be okay with that.

Then the doof had to go and ruin everything. Had to decide not go to the school of his dreams and to go somewhere driving distance from me instead. To show up at my doorstep to tell me about it before telling Carly or Spencer or his own mother. To look at me like he wanted me to say something. To look at me like he wanted _me_. It felt like . . . like I was almost . . . winning. But this time, I wasn't playing to win. I wasn't about to do anything at the expense of his future. As selfish as I typically am, I do know how to put my friends first during the times when it really counts.

And that's why I found myself getting ready at my own apartment on prom night, waiting for some lame-ass date who wasn't him. I had always imagined that I would spend that evening with Carly, doing hair and make-up together and talking as we got ready. That had become an impossibility.

Ross and I needed time before the prom to prep, and that meant Carly couldn't be there. Over the course of the last few weeks, several people (including Carls) had seen me threatening the kid. But as long as we came up with a consistent story, I saw no reason why this made our going to prom anything less than plausible.

I knew from years of iCarly comments about Freddie and me that people didn't necessarily _see_ violence and romance as inconsistent, and I knew from my own fucked up feelings that they weren't. Of course, Ross was not Freddie and it wouldn't come naturally. The lie about what we were doing together would have to be good. A lot was riding on that lie . . .

The secret of a good lie is consistency. It involves developing a back story, complete with details and built-in answers to questions that anyone might ask. Sprinkle in bits of truth and the whole thing will seem pretty plausible. Yeah, lying had always been my talent and my out. Up until that point, it had rarely failed me. I knew that _I_ could at least lie well enough to make people buy me dating Ross. The trouble was, I didn't know if the stupid lug could . . .

So there I was alone that evening, getting ready and waiting for the boy. And more than anything, I wished that Carls were there. Nothing seemed to be going right. My dress made me look washed out, I broke the pair of high heels that I had planned to wear, and my hair looked like it had been done by someone who grooms poodles for a living. What was, by far, the worst part of it though was that Ross was running late. Good lies take time (particularly when one of the liars isn't the sharpest crayon in the box) and that was something we no longer had . . .

You can imagine my relief when the doorbell finally rang, and despite my dissatisfaction with the way I looked, I rushed to answer it.

But when I did, I got a shock.

"Hey," the boy standing there said, shoving a corsage into my astonished hands and walking into my apartment as if it were the most natural things in the world. "Are you really going to wear your hair like that?"

* * *

_And I've had my eye on you from the beginning and never really thought that I'd ever be winning . . .

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_

**Author's Note 2:** There I hope that it was sufficiently clear that Sam was not _completely_ lacking in self-confidence. I _did_ want to convey that she was scarred about the possibility that she wouldn't get it together and that she didn't think that things could work out with Freddie. However, I _didn't_ want to it seem like she either thought that she was complete crap or that Freddie couldn't possibly care for her. As popular as that is in fics, I think that it is even more out of character than this chapter.


	5. Dance

**Author's Note:** This chapter was harder to write than I thought it would be and I'm still not entirely satisfied with it. The first draft of it was entirely too sappy for the characters and the second made it seem like Sam had chronic mood swings. Hope this third try at least moderately worked.

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"_I swear, Sam, one of these days you are going to push me . . ." ~Fredward Benson, iLook Alike

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_

"What are you doing here, Benson?!" I yelled, sounding more hysterical than I would have liked.

"I'm here to take you to prom," he said, giving me a puzzled look.

"So I guess those smart pills your Mom has been feeding you haven't quite kicked in yet, huh?" I said. "What part of 'I have a date' didn't you understand?"

Freddie was the absolute last person that I wanted to see and there was no possible way that Ross and I could agree upon our story with him there.

"Oh," he said, innocently, "I completely forgot. I guess I'll just wait with you until he gets here."

"Yeah, not going to happen, Freakazoid," I said, motioning toward the door.

"Really?" he asked, infuriatingly. "Why not? I would think that you'd want all the help you could get."

He grimaced slightly, looking up at the monstrosity that was my hair, and extended a hand as if to prod at it.

"Because, you socially incompetent loser," I said, slapping his hand away in annoyance and thinking on my feet, "Ross could get the wrong idea."

That was plausible. Man I was good.

"The wrong idea about what?" he asked, innocently and I practically groaned at his stupidity.

"Well, let's see," I said slowly, pretending to think over. "Maybe about the fact that there's another guy in a tux sitting around with his prom date?!"

Maddeningly, Freddie raised a puzzled eyebrow. This scenario really wasn't _that_ hard to understand. In fact, Ross actually _had_ asked me about Freddie when I asked him to take me prom.

"I mean he'll think that there's something going on between us," I clarified, looking at him as if I thought he were a complete moron.

"Oh, I got that," he said simply. "I'm just not sure why you would call that 'the wrong idea.'"

"Excuse me?" I practically reeled, momentarily unable to contain my shock as I gripped the back of the couch. He actually said that out loud.

"Well, that seems like a pretty accurate assessment of the situation to me," he said casually.

Although, for the most part, he seemed cool and collected, I could see that his hands were shaking. What the hell did he think he was doing?

"Are you off your rocker, Freddork?" I said, laughing in a way that didn't _quite_ manage to mask my nervousness. "I have absolutely no feelings for you whatsoever."

It was a lie that I had been telling for several years by that point, and yet, the delivery was not as flawless as it should have been.

"That's too bad," he said, clearly trying to sound casual but actually matching my not-quite-not-nervous tone. "Because I have feelings for you."

And then I couldn't take it any more. Maybe I wasn't as good a liar as I thought because I had to look away. I could no longer meet his eyes.

"Freddie, stop goofing around," I tried to laugh, pretending to be looking for something in my purse. I could have shot myself in the foot. I sounded like a girl in frikkin' chick flick.

"Sooo," he said, essentially ignoring my feeble response but sounding a bit more relaxed. "You and this Ross guy, huh?"

"What about us?" I said lamely, continuing to rifle through my purse.

"Is it pretty serious?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, looking up at him. "It's pretty hot and heavy, you know?"

And the moment that the words left my mouth, I knew that I had somehow slipped up. A devious glint flashed in his eye hinting that he knew more than he was letting on. Fortunately, I had done this before, and knew that there was still a good chance that I could recover from this sort of mistake.

"Why?" I asked dramatically, trying to look as anxious as possible. "Do you know something that I don't?!"

Even if he knew that Ross wasn't exactly in love me, I could still play it off as if I had hoped otherwise.

"Well," he smirked. "The guy didn't seem terribly upset when I told him that he didn't have to take you to prom."

It was the smirk. The smirk that pushed me over the edge. I could feel my blood starting to boil and my mind cloud over in anger.

"You told him what?!" I yelled, grabbing his lapels. I had worked long and hard to set this up and the dorkwad just went and blew it. And then he had the nerve to show up! To show up and pretend like he didn't know that I was waiting the guy that he turned away!

"You had no right to interfere with my love life!" I yelled.

At first Freddie looked frightened, the way that he always had when I placed him in danger of imminent physical harm, but then he seemed to push through it. His features suddenly seemed to soften, and slowly and deliberately, he moved his hands to my waist.

And suddenly I was the one who was afraid. I couldn't contain a gasp nor could I meet his eyes. I knew that if I did, it would be all over. And I'd be damned if I let him win.

"Freddie, let me go," I said in a low and angry tone.

"N-no, Sam," he said, his voice trembling and his hands shaking.

"I'm warning you, Freddie," I said, "Let me go or else . . ."

"Or else, what?" he asked, sounding both defiant and scared. "You'll force the entire football team to date you until I agree to go to Brown?"

"Freddie," I said, closing my eyes completely and realizing that I had nothing but the truth left. "Freddie, we can't do this."

"And why not?!" he almost yelled, sounding exasperated.

And for the second time that month, I felt fucking tears well up in my eyes. It was like my body was rebelling against me and I was frozen on the spot, mortified . . . I did my best to slow my breathing, praying that that all of it would stop. Or that, somehow, if I stood there silently enough I would disappear into the background.

No such luck.

"Why not?" he asked more softly, and I could hear the fucking pain creeping into his voice.

"Because," I said without really thinking, just trying my utter best to retract the damn tears that I could feel forming, "this isn't how your life is supposed to go. You're supposed to be a doctor with a stupid picket fence and 2.3 nubbish kids. And I could still very well end up working at Chili my Bowl."

And suddenly he was laughing. Laughing! I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I was practically crying in front of him and he had the nerve to laugh!

"That's the stupidest thing that I've ever heard," he laughed, his voice now full of assurance and relief.

Let's just say that pissed me off.

"It is not, you insensitive freak!" I said, angrily, meeting his eyes again. "I just want you to lead type of life that you're fucking meant for!"

This, apparently, was the wrong choice of words on my part because it seemed to set something off in him.

"And what gives you the right to decide what that is?!" he asked, releasing me in his anger. "You're not my mother, Sam, and even if you were you wouldn't get to make those choices!"

"Well someone needs to make those choices" I yelled, "because you've clearly been sipping the crazy juice! How could you just throw it all away?!"

"I'm not throwing it away!" he yelled back. "UBC is a very good school!"

"Even if it is," I said, "you clearly chose it for messed up reasons and I'm not gonna let you give up the rest of it!"

"What if I don't want the rest of it?!" he shouted. "For one thing, I don't want to be a doctor! You know that blood makes me faint! And who says I want a fucking picket fence?! And you sure as hell are not going to end up working at Chili my Bowl!"

"And why the hell not?!" I yelled, taking a step toward him.

After all the discomfort that idea had caused me over the last few months, I couldn't believe he could be so damn flippant about my future!

"Because you're Sam Puckett, dammit!" he shouted.

"You're the craziest, stubbornest girl I know," he said, "and you don't do anything that you don't want to. I _know_ that you'll find your way eventually."

I hadn't realized how tired I was or how much I had been holding in. At that moment, all the anger, sadness, and fear about of the future seemed to pour out of me and I was left standing there staring at him in shock. I opened my mouth as if to respond but found that no words would come.

And there it was again. That look. That hopeful, terrifying, wonderful look. But this time it was somehow softer. His eyes were filled with tenderness and never once left my own as he closed the distance between us.

"And I think I love you," he whispered, his voice trembling and his face inches from my own. "Whether or not you feel that way about me."

"You're such an idiot," I whispered back before doing the only thing I could.

His lips were soft against mine and moved with both passion and tenderness.

Finally, I pulled away and voiced the question that had been forming in my mind.

"So where do we go from here?" I asked him.

"Well," he smiled, "how about the dance?"

At first I thought he had misunderstood my question. That he didn't realize that I was speaking of the long term and what would happen to us in the future. I opened my lips to clarify, but before I could say anything he had pulled me toward him again and his lips were covering mine.

And suddenly it was as simple as that. Me. Him. A dance and a kiss.

And the future? Maybe.

* * *

_We've all made decisions; we've all had to choose. From amongst the skeleton's in our closets, where's my dancing shoes . . .

* * *

_**Author's Note 2:** And there you have it. Not the greatest fic in the world, but certainly not the worst. Although I don't quite consider this a songfic, I have included some lyrics at the end of every chapter. They're from an obscure song called "Maybe, Just, Maybe" by the Sons of the Never Wrong. I don't own them any more than I own iCarly. Thanks to all my lovely reviewers. :-)


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